


'cause nothing can measure

by angelsaves



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Impact Play, M/M, Podfic Welcome, past unsafe kink practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Every so often, Ryan just needs something to shut up his brain, okay? He just doesn't always make the best choices about it. Shane disapproves, and has a better idea.





	'cause nothing can measure

**Author's Note:**

> betaed lightning-quick by the most excellent mardia
> 
> title from "s&m" by rihanna, which might be a little on the nose, but i'm a free bitch

This isn't that big a deal. It's not, like, his identity or something. Just, every once in a while, Ryan needs something to shut up his brain, and having somebody take charge of him and do what they want... it does the trick.

It's been a while since Ryan's fired up that OKCupid profile, and he's not _desperate_ , not exactly, but he's twitchy under his skin. When the guy he's chatting with suggests Ryan come over, he agrees, even though it's past midnight and he's shooting tomorrow.

Ryan gets to the filming location early, and it's a good thing, because Shane's eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline when he sees him. "The fuck happened to you, Bergara? Did you get mugged?"

He fingers his neck self-consciously. Are the marks really that bad? "No. It's fine. It was -- it was a sex thing, okay? It's fine."

"It's not fine," Shane says, "for several reasons, including that if I noticed, our viewers will _absolutely_ notice. Do you have -- I don't know, makeup?"

"Makeup," Ryan repeats. "No, I do not."

"I'm calling Sara."

"Isn't it weird to call your ex for this?" Ryan tries not to touch his neck again.

"We're friends," Shane says. "Now shut up." He turns his back, muffling the phone with his hand. After a minute, he turns back, examines Ryan's neck, and says, "Purple," then turns away again.

Ryan feels like an idiot. He knew, kind of, while it was happening, that letting an inexperienced top choke him was a bad idea, but... he'd needed it, or something like it, pretty badly. Maybe not badly enough to come to work with noticeable bruises on his neck, though. God, he's dumb --

"Come on," Shane says, taking his arm. "We're going to CVS to get you yellow concealer."

"Yellow?" Ryan blinks, but obeys.

"It'll counteract the purple of the bruises, Sara says." Shane is walking fast, courtesy of his fucking bone stilts, and he turns backwards to face Ryan. "Seriously, dude, what were you thinking?"

"I _wasn't_ , that's kind of the _point_ \--"

"That's even worse!" Shane throws up his hands, turns around, and keeps walking with stupidly long strides.

Ryan jogs to keep up. "There's nothing wrong with needing..." He trails off, then finishes, awkwardly, "with needing."

"No, there's not, but if you're going to do stuff like this, you have to do it with someone responsible enough not to fucking throttle you," Shane says.

"I'll try to keep your requirements in mind the next time I --" Ryan starts angrily.

Shane cuts him off. "I mean me."

"You _what?_ " Ryan's voice cracks.

"I mean _me_." Shane holds open the door to the CVS. "At least I'm responsible enough to fucking Google breathplay before I do it," he finishes in a whisper that has the older lady at the cosmetics counter looking worryingly intrigued.

Ryan shoots her a disapproving look. She could be one of his aunts, God, this is weird.

"Here we go," Shane says, hunkering down and picking what looks like pale yellow lipstick from the wall. "Nice and yellow."

"Great, thanks," Ryan says, snatching it from his hand and hurrying to the cash register. The teenager behind the counter doesn't seem interested at all, thank God, and Ryan makes his escape, Shane following him.

"Hold still and let me put this on you," Shane says when they round the corner near the location. "You don't want any more questions."

"Fine." Ryan lets Shane carefully dab and smudge the yellow stuff on his neck. It is a little sore, but he knows Shane would freak out more if he mentioned it. The tip of Shane's tongue is poking out a little, making a little fondness break through Ryan's irritation. "You were kidding, right?"

"About what?" Shane stands back. "You're good."

"About -- you know. Doing -- stuff." Ryan mimes choking himself, careful not to actually touch his skin and smear the makeup.

"Absolutely serious," Shane says. "What are friends for?"

"Not that, usually," Ryan says.

"Still. We'll get this shoot done, and then I'll come over on --" Shane looks at his phone. "Thursday."

Ryan could say no. He might be -- a bottom, or a sub, or whatever, but he isn't a doormat. He just... doesn't want to say no. "Okay," he says. "Thursday."

***

The shoot goes fine. Nobody comments on the yellow concealer, anyway, and Ryan swears he hears ominous noises at one point, and Shane insists it's nothing, and overall, all is as it should be.

The next two days at work are fine, too, and Ryan almost forgets Shane's plan, until he gets his text Thursday afternoon: _Coming over tonight @ 8._ He goes hot all over.

"You feeling all right?" Steven asks, leaning over to try to read his phone. "You look weird."

"I'm great," Ryan says, pocketing it. "Just great."

At home, he takes a shower and gets dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that makes his biceps look good. This isn't a date or anything, but there's no reason not to... well. It makes him feel a little better about taking advantage of Shane like this if Shane might be getting something out of it too, even if it's only the opportunity to mock him for his vanity.

Ryan's sitting on the couch, trying not to think too hard about what's going to happen, when there's a knock at the door. He checks his phone: 8 on the dot.

"Hey," he says, opening the door to Shane, who's in all black, like a cat burglar -- or, Ryan realizes, like someone who's been looking into BDSM community norms. He's got a duffel bag, too, slung over one shoulder.

"Hey," Shane says. Ryan moves aside to let him in, and he sits down on the couch, duffel bag at his feet. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Ryan says, closing the door. "You?"

"I"m good, but you seem... amped up. Are you sure this is okay?" Shane's eyebrows draw together. "You do actually like this stuff, right?"

" _Yes,_ " Ryan says, annoyance making his voice sharp. "It feels good to me, and it helps me get less -- amped, okay?"

"Okay," Shane says. "So we'll start with something I already know you like." He gets up and walks up to Ryan, coming up behind him. "Hold still, all right?"

"Sure," Ryan says.

Shane gets up close to his back, then lays his big hands on him, one over his mouth, one on his throat. There's almost no pressure, just warm skin. "This is how you do it safely," he says. "Hold your breath for me."

Ryan takes a deep breath and holds it. He can feel Shane's pulse, he thinks, or maybe that's his own, beating strongly. His lungs start to burn, but he keeps holding his breath.

"That's good," Shane says softly. "Do you like that? Keep on holding it." Ryan does, his vision starting to go sparkly at the edges, until finally Shane says, "Okay, that's enough. Let it out." It comes out in a _whoosh_ , rushing over Shane's fingers, and Ryan wavers on his feet.

"I'm gonna -- sit down," he says.

"Yeah, of course." Shane ushers him to sit on his own couch, then sits down next to him. "Was that -- how was it?"

"Good," Ryan says. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs and stretching. "Really -- really good."

"Awesome." Shane's face breaks into a grin. "You look calmer."

"It's good for me," Ryan says, shrugging. "I mean, probably it's better for me when..."

"When what?"

When he trusts the person doing it to him. When he cares about them and thinks they care about him. He doesn't say either of those, because that might be weird. "When it's safe," he says instead, admitting, "You were right."

"Ha!" Shane throws his arms in the air. "Victory for the Shaniacs! Safe, sane, consensual, baby!"

"I don't think that's the exclusive province of your fans," Ryan says, then relents. "Okay, fine. I concede."

"Very gracious of you," Shane says. "So... what else do you need? Or want?"

"I don't know," Ryan says, stemming the flood of images that invokes in his imagination. "What's, uh. On the table?"

Shane spreads his hands wide. "I came prepared," he says. "Want to see my toy bag?"

Ryan glances at the duffel bag involuntarily. "Sure," he says, keeping cool. "Let's see what you've got."

"Cool, cool." Shane unzips it and starts setting things out on the couch between them: a paddle, a flogger, cuffs, some rope, a ball gag. "In case your walls are thin," Shane explains, "or, you know --"

"If you want to shut me up?" Ryan suggests lightly.

"No," Shane says, suddenly serious. "This is about you, dude. If you want to lecture me about the history of the boysenberry for an hour while I hit you, or whatever -- that's fine."

Ryan frowns. "I don't want it to just be about me, man. If you don't want to do this..."

"I want to," Shane says firmly. "So, do any of these... tickle your fancy?"

"Tickle my _fancy_ ," Ryan repeats, "oh my _god_ \--"

"Or I could go, or we could watch a movie or something," Shane says. "You know. Whatever."

"This one." Ryan points to the paddle: made of some pale wood -- pine, probably, but he's not an expert -- and shiny with lacquer. It doesn't have holes in it, or words printed on it; no funny business, just wood.

"Cool," Shane says. "On your ass, or...?"

"Yeah, my ass is fine -- don't you waggle your eyebrows at me, sir!" Ryan slaps his forehead. "I walked into that one."

"I'm not disagreeing," Shane says, grinning like a jerk. "How do you feel about -- uh, clothes?"

"...generally in favor?" Ryan says blankly, then gets with the program. "Oh, right. Uh, I could take off my pants and leave my underwear on? That seems -- good."

"Awesome." Shane picks up the paddle and smacks it into his hand a few times, the sound making Ryan shudder happily. "So, do you have a safeword?"

"Nah," Ryan says. "I'd rather just stick with plain English. Assume I mean what I say."

"Sounds good." Shane looks at him, hard, then says, "How about you bend over the arm of the couch, and I stand behind you?"

"Oh, good," Ryan says, relieved. "I'm not a big fan of over-the-knee."

"Noted," Shane says. He gets up, all of his limbs somehow graceful, and Ryan gets up too. He takes his sweats down, stepping out of them when they pool around his feet, and bends over. The air is cool on his upturned ass, even through his boxer-briefs, but somehow charged, too, like he can feel Shane's gaze on him. That's stupid, though. Shane is doing this as a friend, not out of -- attraction, or whatever.

"Ready?" Shane asks.

Ryan braces himself on the cushions. "Ready." And with a _crack_ , the paddle hits him. "Oh," Ryan says, half a groan.

"Was that okay?" Shane asks solicitously.

"That was perfect. Do it again," Ryan demands.

"I can do that." He does, hitting the other side of Ryan's ass this time, and the pain splashes over Ryan like cold water, refreshing him and setting all his senses on high alert. "How many do you want?"

"All of them," Ryan says, "keep doing this forever."

Shane laughs. "Okay, Goldsworth." He hits Ryan again and again, alternating sides, covering each ass cheek in smacking blows.

"Ah!" Ryan cries out. "Your technique is -- fuck -- fantastic."

"Thanks, man. I practiced." There's a leap of unfair jealousy in Ryan's gut, which he clamps down. "On pillows," Shane continues blithely. "Let me tell you, your ass is way firmer."

"Than a pillow? Gee, thanks -- ah!"

"Yep," Shane says. "A compliment, right from good ol' Mr. Madej."

"God, you asshole -- ah!" Ryan's ass is glowing with pain now. "Okay, I might be done."

Shane stops immediately. "Too much?"

"Exactly enough," Ryan corrects him. He reaches back, cupping his own ass and feeling the heat of the skin. "God -- fuck -- that was so good."

"Good," Shane says. "I'm glad I could help you out." He settles one hand on Ryan's back for a moment, then lifts it. "Put your pants on, Bergara."

"Right." Ryan straightens up and steps back into his sweatpants, hiking them up. "Do you -- uh --"

"I have to get home," Shane says. "Obi needs his dinner."

"Okay," Ryan says. He doesn't get the elaborate custody arrangement Shane and Sara have with their cat, but it isn't his problem. "Thanks again."

"Any time." Shane holds out his fist; Ryan bumps it. "Later, Ryan."

He leaves, and then Ryan is alone with his thoughts. It's not as bad as it usually would be, not with his ass on fire, feeling settled in his skin. Still, though... he's had sort of a low-key thing for Shane for, like, ever, but it had never occurred to him that Shane might be into kinky shit. He'd had Shane safe in the "vanilla -- off-limits" box. But now, knowing the way Shane works a paddle, the way his hand feels on Ryan's throat... he's clawing his way out of that box, and Ryan's not completely sure how he feels about that.

Well -- some parts are sure how they feel. Ryan shoots a look down at the obscene tent his cock is making in his sweats. At least that had waited for Shane to leave. He heads into the bedroom, undressing as he goes, then lies down, the sheets deliciously rough on his sore ass, and takes his cock in hand.

He can't think about what-ifs right now -- it'll ruin his endorphin high -- so he just rides the sensation, the memory of Shane beating his ass and the rub of, fuck, every single thread against the sensitive skin. Maybe he'll have bruises, ones Shane won't feel the need to put makeup on -- God, it feels good. He spits into his hand, slicking his way, and rubs hard just under the head of his cock.

Oh, that's the stuff. Ryan takes a deep breath and holds it, remembering the sound of Shane's voice telling him to, and oh, God, that's it, he's coming hard and fast.

After that, he sleeps, and he doesn't dream about anything at all.

***

The calm feeling lasts for several days. It's pretty awesome, actually. Ryan gets a shit-ton of work done, works out, goes for drinks with Steven and Andrew and Shane, and just generally feels... good.

He doesn't realize it's faded until it's Thursday again, and Shane comes up behind him and scares him half out of his skin. "Jesus, chill," Shane says. "Do you -- I could come over later."

"What -- yeah," Ryan says, his brain catching up with his mouth. "Sure, that'd be great."

"Cool." Shane's long fingers just brush the top of Ryan's shoulder, and he wanders off. The touch was probably meant to be comforting, Ryan thinks, but it actually has the opposite effect, making him hyperaware of the space in the air where Shane just was, the sounds of the office, the feel of his shirt rubbing his skin. God, how is he going to make it through the rest of the day?

He does it, somehow, though. This time, Shane follows him home instead of drawing it out, because apparently he keeps the duffel bag with him, for reasons Ryan doesn't bother to consider. "I thought we could order pizza, and then I could --"

"Right, yeah," Ryan says, because even though they're alone in the elevator, he feels sort of weird about where that sentence was going.

Shane smirks at him, like he knows exactly what Ryan was thinking, and doesn't say anything.

The pizza is good -- well, it's pizza; it'd have to try pretty hard to be bad. Ryan stuffs his face, and so does Shane, whose impossibly long legs are probably hollow. He's just wiping the sheen of grease off his mouth with a paper towel when he notices Shane watching him. "What?"

"Nothing," Shane says. "I had an idea."

"That's not nothing," Ryan points out pedantically. "Lay it on me."

"I thought, the flogger today?" Shane toes at his duffel bag.

"Sure, awesome," Ryan says. He likes floggers, and he _really_ likes the idea of Shane liking them too, which he doesn't feel like unpacking right now.

"And if you stand in the doorway to the kitchen, you can sort of..." Shane gets up and demonstrates, bracing himself on the frame. "See?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, a shiver of excitement running through him. "I can do that. Shirt off?"

"Any excuse, eh?" Shane winks ath im, which is -- infuriatingly attractive.

"Yes," Ryan says, a little grumpy. He pulls off his ringer tee and drops it on the couch, then tries to fix his hair.

"Leave it, it's fine," Shane says. Is his voice a little huskier than normal, or is that just wishful thinking?

Ryan goes to the doorway and gets into position, while Shane digs the flogger out of his bag. It's a nice one, with a thick, heavy bundle of black leather tails, and Ryan can't wait to feel it on his back.

Shane comes closer, standing behind Ryan, and for a moment, the only sound is their breathing.

"You do know what you're doing, right?" Ryan says, breaking the silence.

"Ryan," Shane says reprovingly. "Yeah, I know what I'm doing." As he says it, he trails the ends of the tails down Ryan's back.

It feels so good, so suddenly, that he jumps and makes a sound like he's gargling: "Gaah!"

Shane chuckles. "You like that, huh?" He does it again, the leather slithering over Ryan's bare skin, then swings it, just lightly, a patter of tiny strikes like raindrops.

"Oh, man," Ryan says, the anticipation curling warm in his chest. "Okay, fine, you know what you're doing."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Shane says, smug. "You ready?"

"Ready," Ryan says.

_Thud_ comes the first hit, precisely placed by his left shoulder, like a nail being driven into him, settling him in. _Thud, thud, snap!_ He jumps again - that must have been Shane stretching the tails in his hand and releasing them, a stinging sensation, very different from a solid hit.

"Okay?" Shane asks.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Just -- get into a rhythm, okay?"

"Sure." _Thud, thud, snap! Thud, thud, snap!_

Oh, God, it's perfect. Ryan drops his head forward and lets the impacts take him down, deep into a quiet place inside of him. _Thud, thud, snap!_

Shane is talking, somewhere distant. "I wish you could see yourself," he says, softly, like Ryan isn't quite supposed to hear. "God, you're a fucking picture like this. All those muscles, all contained and quiet..." He keeps going with the flogger while he mutters, _thud, thud, snap!_

Ryan smiles, slowly, like his face is in maple syrup or something. Shane _likes_ him like this.

After a while, God only knows how long, Shane says, "I gotta stop, dude, my arms are killing me."

"Cool, cool," Ryan says dreamily. "That was... real good."

"Good," Shane says. "Your back is all stripy." He sets down the flogger. "Can I touch it?"

"Of course, man." Shane does, his fingertips running down either side of Ryan's spine, eight lines over the welts, from the tops of his shoulders down to the waistband of his jeans. "Fuuuuck," Ryan moans. It feels _incredible_.

"Was that..." Shane gulps audibly. "Was that good?"

Ryan doesn't know how to answer in words, so he just goes with what his body wants: he turns around, winds his arms around Shan'es neck, and goes up on his toes to kiss him.

Shane sucks in a breath, cool against Ryan's lips, then kisses back, crushing their mouths together, taking what Ryan's trying to give him. "Fuck," he says, pulling back, "this wasn't supposed to happen."

"What do you mean, 'supposed to'?" Ryan settles back on his heels. "There's no big plan, dude, do you want to do this or not?"

Shane steps around him and goes to sit down on the couch, limbs everywhere. "Define 'this'," he says.

"We've -- done kink stuff," Ryan says, leaning against the doorframe. "I thought we could do sex stuff, too. Two great tastes that taste great together, you know?"

"Sex and kink are different for me," Shane says. "I don't -- I can beat you up and not -- get too deep. I don't know if I can do that if we do sex stuff too."

"What's 'too deep'?" Ryan counters. "I -- you -- I don't trust just anybody." When Shane quirks one eyebrow, he adds defensively, "With my _feelings_ , okay? I might not make the best choices physically, but -- you're it. With the -- knowing why."

"Oh," Shane says. "...Really?"

"Yeah, really!" Ryan takes a step forward, then another. "I'd do anything for you, dude."

"I don't..." Shane blows out a breath, then visibly steels himself. "I don't want you to do stuff _for_ me, okay? I want to do stuff _with_ you."

"That's really sweet," Ryan says, too surprised to make a joke out of it. "Stuff like sex stuff, to be clear?"

"Yes," Shane says. "Like sex stuff." His face is so open and earnest that Ryan wants to keep it in a locket. "But, like. Also maybe romantic stuff?"

"I can do that," Ryan says. "I'm a great boyfriend." There's a bubbly, excited feeling running through him. "I'll buy you flowers."

"Okay," Shane says. "But first, let's make out like horny teenagers for a while."

Ryan likes that idea. He sits next to Shane on the couch and pulls him in, kissing him hard. Shane takes charge of the kiss, pressing Ryan down into the cushions with his long body.

"What do you like?" Shane asks after a long while. His mouth is all red, and his hair is a hilarious mess.

"You," Ryan says, and he's rewarded with seeing Shane's eyes go soft.

"Yeah, I like you too, dumbass, but, like --" He gestures to encompass the way the two of them are tangled together. "More of the same? Something different?"

"You could fuck my brains out," Ryan suggests, and Shane groans, his hips grinding down on Ryan's in a gorgeous shock of friction. "Oh, yeah, you like that idea too?"

"Yeah," Shane says. He leans down and kisses Ryan's neck, then down his chest. "Yeah, I like that idea. You're so bendy, God -- gonna put your legs over my shoulders and fold you in half."

"Yes," Ryan says, bucking up against him. "That's what I want."

"Okay -- okay, get your pants off," Shane says, climbing off him to crouch down on the floor.

Ryan shimmies out of his jeans and watches Shane dig through his duffel bag. "Do you have stuff in there?" he asks. "I thought that wasn't part of --"

"I mean, I hoped," Shane says, a blush spreading over his cheeks, producing a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube, new. "You mad?"

"Nah." Ryan leans down and kisses him. "I'm pretty psyched."

"Good." Shane kisses him again, with a lot more tongue. "Now, come on, I think there was some brain-fucking on the menu."

"That sounds _incredibly_ gross," Ryan points out, grimacing.

"Fair. Ass-fucking?" Shane tries, and Ryan nods in approval. "Okay, we'll stick with ass-fucking."

"Sometime today?" Ryan shifts his hips, his cock bobbing against his abs in a way he hopes is sexy. Shane leans in and licks it, a hot wet stripe of pleasure, so it must be working -- then he slicks up his fingers and starts taking Ryan apart, oh, _God_ \--

"Fuck, _Shane,_ " Ryan says breathlessly, and after that, he just makes noises. Shane does get him folded in half, fingering him open with careful precision while Ryan digs his heels into his back, and Ryan just writhes against the couch cushions, the pain and the pleasure making him crazy with want.

"Yeah," Shane says, "it's me, it's just me." He rolls on the condom and fucks into Ryan, a long, smooth thrust that has Ryan keening before he's even bottomed out. "God, Ryan, you're amazing, you feel so good --"

Ryan surges up to kiss him, thigh muscles burning, and Shane pants into his mouth, hips jerking forward in a staccato rhythm. It's so hot that Ryan thinks he might die.

"Yeah, come on, come for me," Shane says, and fuck, Ryan does, cock trapped and spurting between them. "Fuck, yeah," Shane gasps out -- he thrusts into Ryan again, again, again, and comes inside him with a groan.

It's the best thing that's ever happened to Ryan, he thinks, sweaty and sticky, back raw, Shane's cumbersome weight on top of him. He kisses whatever parts of Shane he can reach, his upper arm, the side of his face. "You're a great ghoulfriend," he says.

"I'm the _best_ ," Shane says back, face pressed into Ryan's chest. Ryan doesn't disagree.


End file.
